


I Know Those Eyes (This Man Is Dead)

by diddlydang



Series: The Ferdibert Collection [14]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Count of Monte Cristo AU, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, no beta we die like Glenn, thats all I got, theyre brief but just as a heads up, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diddlydang/pseuds/diddlydang
Summary: “You-” Hubert reels back, letting go of Ferdinand and standing a foot away from him. “You died years ago.”Ferdinand puts his arms behind him and sits up. “That’s the story my father told, I’m sure.”---or, a count of monte cristo au fic
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: The Ferdibert Collection [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480094
Comments: 13
Kudos: 175





	I Know Those Eyes (This Man Is Dead)

**Author's Note:**

> ok some things to say
> 
> 1\. hubert and ferdie are engaged in this, the church is not evil and TWSITD dont exist
> 
> 2\. Wow haha its been a minute.... sorry OPE
> 
> 3\. enjoy :)

“Ferdinand,” Lord Vestra greets him, “I wasn’t expecting a visit from you, I thought you were attending the Officers Academy with Hubert?”

“You’re correct, Lord Vestra. Father wished for me to check on a few things at the estate.” Ferdinand swallows, “I ran across something that may need your, uh, expertise.”

Hubert’s father frowns at him before getting up from his desk. “Are you being threatened?”

“Nothing of the sort! It’s a matter for the head of the Imperial Household, nothing that involves... er…. assassinations.”

Lord Vestra’s face and posture lose their rigidity. It’s funny, he thinks Hubert would have preferred assassinations over the more trivial matters of his father’s job. What a strange man he’s come to love. “Ah, that will make this easier.”

Ferdinand disagrees, thinking for once he’d prefer assassinations and silently hands over the papers.

Vestra’s face is impassive as he reads over them, but Ferdinand could have sworn he’d seen a flicker of… something pass over his face. Concern? 

“Where did you get these?”

“My Father’s estate in Enbarr,” Ferdinand answers, glad to talk again, _needing_ to talk. “He had asked me to make sure everything was in order and I was going to put these away in his cabinet, but, uh-” Lord Vestra holds up a hand, silencing him. 

“I won’t blame you for your curiosity, Ferdinand. Goddess knows Hubert would have done the same thing if he found a document lying out in the open.”

Swallowing, he continues, “The contents… They are troubling, are they not?”

“Troubling?” Lord Vestra shakes his head, “Ferdinand, this would ruin your father if it ever got out.”

“That’s why I brought it to you, Lord Vestra!” He wrings his hands together, “As Marquis of the Imperial Household, you can investigate into this, surely! If Father has done wrong, or if this is simply a misunderstanding, you’d be able to figure it out!”

Lord Vestra doesn’t respond, his eyes focused on the papers before him. Ferdinand, unsure of what exactly to do, prompts him again. “Lord Vestra?”

“You were correct, Ferdinand.” he is told, “I will look into this matter immediately, thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Relief floods Ferdinand. Soon this will be over, one or another. “Thank you, Lord Vestra.”

-—

The guards entering the class are unexpected for one reason; they don’t have the Crest of Seiros adorning their armor. Instead of the symbol he’d grown accustomed to seeing at the monastery, he sees one he’d grown up seeing. The Empire’s Coat of Arms. 

News about his father, maybe?

“Ferdinand von Aegir,” A knight who Ferdinand had known since before he can remember. He used to sneak him snacks. He’d always been kind to Ferdinand, so different to the now hostile tone he uses. “You’re under arrest for treason to the Empire.”

“Excuse me?” He demands. He tries to stand up, but Hubert’s hand grabs at him, keeping him in his seat. “I would know who charged me with this outrageous crime!”

“Your father, the Prime Minister.” He says, 

Ferdinand’s throat closes up. Had his father somehow convinced Lord Vestra that he was the one to blame? “I demand to see the evidence.”

Another guard, this time one he doesn’t know, speaks up, “Overwhelming. You need not concern yourself with it, traitor.”

Hubert’s hand finds him under the desk. Ferdinand hates that they both wear gloves because _Goddess_ , what he would give to feel Hubert’s actual hand right now. He manages to half-heartedly squeeze Hubert’s hand in response before he’s wrenched up and out of his seat. The metal digs painfully into his arm.

“Surely you could be more gentle than that.” Edelgard says tightly. 

“He’s a traitor to the crown, _Your Highness_ ,” The way he addressed her sounded just short of mocking. “He deserves more than a prison sentence.”

“And how long will he be imprisoned?” She demands, “As heir to the throne, you’d think I’d have been told about one of my classmates being accused of something as high as treason.”

“The Duke didn’t wish to chance his son getting away without his crimes being answered,” He felt like throwing up. How had his father pinned it on him? _How?_ The letter he had given Lord Vestra had been more than enough evidence to name his father as the traitor.

Ferdinand looks over at Hubert, whose face is carefully blank. _Did he know about this?_ As quickly as he thought it, it’s discarded. Hubert had never had a good relationship with his father, and to betray Ferdinand like this… It wasn’t possible.

“Very well.” Ferdinand relents, ignoring the way Hubert’s face snaps to his. “There is nothing I can do to fight this, I assume?” All he needs to do is talk to Lord Vestra and clear this up. Maybe he was still investigating, causing his father to panic and try to blame it on him.

“The best thing for you is to shut up.” And with that, they haul Ferdinand off to the nearest holding cells. 

\---

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs. It’s not the heavy gait of a guard, but the quick and silent steps of Hubert. He’d snuck in to see Ferdinand. He laughs to himself. Of course he had. Sure enough, his fiancé’s face emerges out the darkness.

“Hello, Hubert.” He greets, still managing some of his usual optimism. “How are you?”

Hubert’s face only grows more displeased at his smile. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You’ve been arrested and yet you’re acting as though you’re fine.” Hubert snaps, “Stop.”

“Yes, I agree, the situation is… less than perfect.” He winces before going for a smile. It does nothing to lessen the severe expression on Hubert’s face. “This will all be cleared up once I’m able to talk to your father.”

“My father?” Hubert asks, something dark entering his voice. “What could he possibly do to help you?”

“I found something,” Ferdinand says. “My father… He is the real traitor. I took what I had to your father. These matters fall under his realm, after all.” Hubert’s expression changes from severe to panicked in the more he talks, so Ferdinand tries to reassure him. “He told me he’d investigate.”

“Ferdinand.” Hubert says, “I- Why didn’t you come to me first?”

Confused, he says, “I was already in Enbarr, and I wanted this matter resolved quickly.”

An anguished noise comes out of the back of Hubert’s throat, and he grabs the bars, the fabric of his gloves pulled taut against his knuckles. “Ferdinand, whatever your father had done, I can guarantee it was with the help of my father.”

Ferdinand freezes. “I… What?”

“Flames, you gave him whatever evidence you had, didn’t you?” At Ferdinand’s stunned silence, Hubert continues. “He must have destroyed it as soon as soon as you had left.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

“If that letter had gotten out, it also would have put him under suspicion with how closely they work together, which would have inevitably shown him guilty.”

“If you know this, why haven’t you done anything about it?!”

At this, Hubert glares at him, “Edelgard and I had a plan in place once she had assumed the throne. This could have all been avoided if you hadn’t done what you _always_ do and run off without a coherent plan.”

“If you had told me your father was dirty, I wouldn’t have gone to him! How is it my fault for thinking my fiancé’s father would help me?”

At this, Hubert seems to lose steam. His shoulders slump and his grip slackens. He reaches through the bars of his holding cell, scarred hands carefully holding Ferdinand’s face. The motion is familiar to Ferdinand, one he used to be the one who’d put Hubert’s hands there, to try to help him understand that the scarring didn’t bother him. How strange it is that the thing he used to do to comfort Hubert is now grounding him. 

“You’re right, this isn’t your fault. Perhaps I should have told you.” A thumb runs over his cheek. “Now that I know the situation, we’ll have you freed.”

“I assume once Edelgard is Emperor.”

Hubert nods. “Yes, we’ll be able to use my father’s incarceration to shine considerable doubt on your imprisonment.”

“Then I suppose all I need to do is wait for you?”

It garners a small smile from Hubert, “Indeed.”

He wonders if Hubert knew it would help him or if he needed the comfort just as much as Ferdinand himself did. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did. For as rocky as their engagement had started, they had known each other for a very long time. Being wrenched apart like this was…

It wasn’t only cruel to Ferdinand. Hubert deserved better, he had so few people that he held close to his heart. At least he would have Edelgard. 

“I’ll solve this,” Hubert says. His fingers flex around his face, but they don’t press into Ferdinand. “I swear to you, Ferdinand.

Above them, Ferdinand hears the heavy clank as a guard opens the door. Hubert lets go of him, offering one more smile before he melts back into the shadows.

He doesn’t know it now, but this will be the last he sees of Hubert for 5 years.

\---

He’s taken to the Château d’If, the most high security jail in the empire. Ironically enough, it’s in Aegir land, out in in the ocean. He’d grown up hearing tales about all manners of criminals being sent there. Never did he imagine he’d be one of them.

And frankly, the guard’s conduct is worrying. They handle him roughly, practically tossing him into his cell. Just another thing to change when he’s prime minister, he’d have to talk to Edelgard about prison reforms.

Ferdinand dusts himself off and looks around his room. Sparse. A bed and window, unwelcoming stone surrounding him.

But he need only be here for a few months, then Edelgard would be Emperor and this mess would be sorted.

\---

He tallies every day spent there, counting down to Edelgard’s inauguration, until a month passes after and he thinks that, just maybe, Hubert’s plan didn’t work out. But even if it hadn’t, wouldn’t he have sent a sign?

He would be Minister of the Imperial Household by this time, not to mention overly talented in the skills of subterfuge and sabotage. Surely he would have slipped a message to let Ferdinand know that there was a holdup. Surely.

And yet, as his tallies grow more numerous, there is still no such sign that things will go as Ferdinand thought they would. Still, he knows just how precarious balancing politics can be. This will take time.

—- 

Until the months turn into years. During this period, he stops thinking Hubert will be his savior. It’s unhealthy of him to pin all hope on him. It will only turn to resentment. Whatever had happened, Hubert could not get him out. That’s fine.

The only one that Ferdinand hates his father. He placed all his blame on Ferdinand, his own son. Sure, Count Vestra had been part of it, but he knows Hubert had exacted his revenge.

He wouldn’t hurt anyone else like this ever again, Ferdinand would make sure of it. Once he was out, he was putting an end to this sick charade.

\---

He’s on mark 1943 when he gets the idea. It’s by accident, really. He gets sick and a guard jokes that he sounds like he’s about to keel over and die. Ferdinand doesn’t take it as a joke.

After all these years in confinement, he’s emancipated, his once tidy hair now long and unruly and his appearance dirty. It would not be hard for him to ‘die’.

It’s easy. He draws it out over several days, acting like he’s getting more and more sick the longer it goes on. Ferdinand overhears some guards remark on his ‘worsening condition’ and others grousing over having to take care of another dead body.

After a fortnight of this, one day he doesn’t get up, laying still and slowing his breathing.

And his guards are still incompetent, either growing too comfortable with this cushy prison job or his father only hires those who are stupid enough to blindly follow him, because they don’t even check to make sure he’s dead. They turn over his body to pick him up, and it’s in this moment Ferdinand strikes. They’re not in armor, only in clothes and some light chain-mail, so he lunges for one of their knives and slits one of their throats. 

It’s a move Hubert had taught him, very long ago. He’d wanted Ferdinand to defend himself against assassins. He’d laughed and called him paranoid. How idiotic he’d been back then.

The other guard doesn’t have any time to react before he, too, falls to the floor. 

And for the first time in years, Ferdinand can walk out of that bloody prison cell. 

He slinks through the prison, avoiding the guards. Unnecessary bloodshed is, well, unnecessary. The most it will do is draw attention to himself.

When he can finally breathe fresh air, feel the warm sunlight hitting his face and a breeze brushes his now long hair, it stirs something in him. If Ferdinand were the same man he was years ago, he would have cried at the sensations. 

Now, it only strengthens his resolve to end one man. 

He grabs a boat and sets off to sea. He knows the prison they held him in. The Château d’If laid on an island, far away from civilization. It was under Aegir territory, seeing as his father was the one who arrested him in that grand spectacle at the monastery. 

For hours, he need only make minor corrections to the sail. 

Until a storm approaches. Ferdinand is not a skilled sailor, having only leisurely pursued the art once before moving onto other things. He is not gifted enough to know how to navigate through a storm, and not smart enough to know how to keep his boat together. 

He’s knocked into the sea, watching lightning flash through the troubled waters. 

_Hubris,_ he thinks. _It runs in the family._

And then something hits him across the head.

\---

When he wakes up, it’s not on a piece of driftwood, but in a bed. A comfortable bed. 

The door opens, and a man enters. His appearance is friendly despite the scars running across his face. “Hey, kid.”

He has an accent. Ferdinand thinks it might be Almyran, although he’s not sure. He hasn’t met many over his life, and it’s been a long time since he’s heard from anyone besides the guards, whom all had the distinct Adrestrian lilt to their voice.

“The names Nader,” The man, or rather Nader, tells him. “I’m Captain of this ship. We found you drifting.”

“I owe you my life,” Ferdinand replies. He would have died out in the sea if they hadn’t rescued him. “If you need anything, name it and I will do everything I can do to accomplish it.”

Nader’s eyebrows go up, “You’re not really in any shape to be doing anything. You look half-starved.”

He knows. He must make quite the sight, half-drowned after years of imprisonment. “That wouldn’t be inaccurate to say.”

“Let me be straight with you,” Nader’s face grows serious, the smile dropping. “Your ankle has clear signs of imprisonment and you look like you’ve been put away for a long time. Wanna tell me what exactly you did?”

“You’re Almyran, correct?” He asks. Nader nods. “I don’t know how much you know about Fodlan-”

“Gah.” The man is immediately disinterested in anything Ferdinand has to say. Ferdinand can’t say he blames him, nor is he upset by this. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Nevermind. I know nothing about how your land works.”

“Then that will make this story simpler. I was framed for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“I’m sure that’s what many criminals would say.” Nader tells him, and Ferdinand has to concede the point. But he cannot risk being killed now.

“Allow me to prove myself, then. Let me work on this ship for you.”

“The Almyran Navy?” Nader snorts. He seems amused, but doesn’t outright dismiss the idea. Ferdinand has done more with less. 

“Well, I suppose you could throw me back out to sea. Although it makes saving me seem rather redundant.” 

Nader eyes him thoughtfully before clasping his shoulder. Ferdinand nearly crumples under the force of it, unused to any human contact, let alone from someone of Nader’s strength.

“All right, kid, you can help around the ship.”

“My name is Ferdinand.” Ferdinand says.

“Think I’ll stick to kid, kid. Now, let’s put you to work.”

-—

“I told one of my friends in Fodlan your name.,” Nader tells him instead of greetings one day, “He recognized it. In fact, he seemed very shocked to hear that I had you on board. Suppose you were some big shot noble?”

“I was.” Ferdinand agreed. “Though I believe that life has left me.”

“Well, he told one of his friends, who knows you. A kid named Lorenz. He demanded you be brought to the Alliance.”

 _Lorenz_. One of Ferdinand’s dearest friends. He could be considered Ferdinand’s only friend, if he took the stance that since he was engaged to Hubert, they were family (and by extension, Edelgard his family). 

“I know him.” Ferdinand says, “Although I am a little curious about who your contact is.”

Nader pauses, but ultimately shrugs, deeming Ferdinand not enough of a threat. “Claude.”

That explains why the contact even told Lorenz about him. It could have only been someone from the academy who knew of their friendship. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by how many people Claude knew. He always seemed like a charismatic man.

“I see.” Ferdinand says, “Does that mean we’re heading to the Alliance?”

Nader nods. He talks about how soon they’d be there and some other things, but Ferdinand isn’t listening.

He’s heading back to Fodlan. 

One step closer to the end. 

\---

The first thing that happens is Lorenz hugs him. Ferdinand tenses before he remembers and brings his arms around Lorenz.

“When Claude first told me about your survival, I didn’t want to believe him.” Lorenz says into his ear, arms still wound tight around him. “But my heart was light, hoping my dear friend didn’t suffer for something he never did.”

“I suffered for it.” Ferdinand responds, carefully taking himself out of Lorenz’ embrace. 

Lorenz brow knits together and he frowns. “Was the news of your death not a cover up for your escape?”

He wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how his father handled this. He had the tendency to bury things, to pretend they were okay. Or imprison them. “That depends on when he announced I was dead.” 

“It was a few months after they had arrested you.”

Ah. “Did he?” He murmurs.

“He did. Hubert was…” Lorenz places a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder, face gentle. “He was distraught. I’d never seen him so despondent.”

Hubert. No wonder he’d sent nothing. Ferdinand was dead.

“Yes, I imagine.” Hubert had only ever truly cared about a handful of people, and he always blamed himself whenever something bad happened to them, no matter how insignificant. The news of Ferdinand’s death must have…

The thought is discarded as quickly as it comes. He has a goal. He needs to get to his father. 

Nothing else matters. 

“I need to get to Aegir.” Ferdinand says, ignoring the look on Lorenz’ face in response to Ferdinand’s abrasive nature. “Are you able to help me?”

Lorenz purses his lips but nods having more to say. Ferdinand is grateful that his friend has learnt how to hold his tongue. 

That very night, he’s riding for Aegir. 

Soon, this will be over.

\---

 _It’s fortunate_ , he thinks, _that my father’s utter disregard for security continued. It’s a wonder how he hasn’t been murdered yet._

The ball is in full swing, most attendees are so drunk they don’t even notice Ferdinand, a man who many of them haven’t seen before, coming in. It’s funny how if he had never been imprisoned, this would have likely been him, fanciful and carefree, drinking the night away. 

Ferdinand knows his way across a dance floor, and it’s not by walking through. 

He knows not who he dances with, until he does, until a familiar, brooding man is across from him, holding onto his hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Hubert, a man who Ferdinand had loved. Who Ferdinand might still love.

“No,” Ferdinand tells him, “We haven’t.” It’s not even a lie, Hubert doesn’t know this Ferdinand. He knew a younger one, one he called ‘Ferdie’ over tea. The one who had known how to change Hubert’s frustration into a fond adoration.

“Your eyes seem familiar to me,” Hubert continues, not willing to let it go, the stubborn fool. "

“Perhaps I merely remind you of someone.” Hubert’s hand flexes at the small of his back and Ferdinand knows he’s got him. “Someone dear to you, maybe.”

“Perhaps.” Hubert’s temper is lying just beneath the surface. Ferdinand knows Hubert, even after all these years. He’ll always be paranoid to an unhealthy degree, and Ferdinand, practically a nobody, has shown up to a ball of one of the most prominent noblemen in the empire. “Although I can’t seem to recall your name.”

“I never gave it.”

“No,” Hubert agrees. He looks as though he’s about to say something else, but the music shifts and Ferdinand is once again changing dance partners. 

With each one, he gets farther across the room. Until the music stops. He bows to his partner, focused on his destination. 

Scoffing he continues weaving through the happy, drunken people. He knows his Father’s estate well. He would dare to say he knows it even better than his father, given how he preferred to stay at the Imperial Palace. 

He’s going up the stairs that lead to the study when hands grab him and he’s pinned to the floor with a dagger up against his throat. Above him is Hubert, expression thunderous.

“Hubert.” He greets. “Fancy another dance?”

Hubert’s eyes narrow and the dagger presses more insistently into his skin. He can feel the blood trickle down his throat. “Who are you?”

Ferdinand laughs, the knife digging deeper into him. Despite this, he continues to laugh, caring little for the blade drawing blood. If anything, it only edges him on. “Ferdinand!” He laughs, “My name is Ferdinand!”

The reaction is immediate. Subtle, but Ferdinand knows Hubert’s ticks. His jaw twitches and his eyes tighten at the corners. Oh yes, he’s _angry_ , “You would do well to shut your mouth, filthy-”

“Go on,” He coos, taunting, “Try to strike me. See what happens.” He knows his Crest will stop it. He can feel it thrumming now, blood practically singing its tune to him. “Do it, Hubert.” 

He doesn’t see Hubert pull the other knife - it would have disappointed in him if he had - but he sees the sheen of the metal as it’s flung away from them, hears the clatter of it hitting the ground. Cichol’s Crest shines over his chest for a brief moment, illuminating the slash-jawed look on Hubert’s face before it flickers out, dormant again. Ferdinand grins, wide and vicious.

“You-” Hubert reels back, letting go of Ferdinand and standing a foot away from him. “You died _years_ ago.”

Ferdinand puts his arms behind him and sits up. “That’s the story my father told, I’m sure.”

Hubert’s lips press together and he raggedly runs a hand through his hair, briefly lifting it out of his face. “Ferdinand, you think I didn’t investigate? Everything said you were dead, as much as I may have wished otherwise.”

“Does that make you feel better, Hubert?.” He gets to his feet, idly walking over to Hubert’s forgotten dagger and picking it up. “Did convincing yourself I was dead make it easier? Did you sleep better at night thinking I was dead instead of rotting away in a prison? That you could not keep your promise? Unable to protect me?”

Hubert’s dark expression changes to pleading, broken in a single instant. It nudges something deep in Ferdinand, something he has to wrestle back down. It fights him, wanting to come back out after years of suppression. Hubert had always been the best at provoking things from him. “Had I known you were alive, you wouldn’t have remained in that prison for longer than a few months.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Ferdinand says. “I’m sure it would have mattered to me then.”

Hubert watches him. Ferdinand makes no more movements. He might have brute strength over Hubert, but one wound from one of his poisoned weapons and Ferdinand would be dead in a few minutes. 

He isn’t willing to let that happen yet.

“I assume you’re here to speak with your father,” Hubert says, letting the subject change. Ferdinand’s glad. He didn’t want to keep talking about their past.

“Yes.”

“He’s in the study.” 

“I know.” They’re both quiet for a moment; Hubert watching Ferdinand and Ferdinand watching Hubert. A stalemate. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Are you a threat?” 

“Only to the Prime Minister.” Ferdinand says. Hubert still makes no move to apprehend him, so Ferdinand leaves. He knocks Hubert’s shoulder as he passes. It’s immature of him, childish, but he figures he’s allowed that. 

The way to his father’s office is just as he remembered it. There are only a few guards he has to avoid, but their paths and rotations are still the same. He knows exactly how to evade them.

Ferdinand stops when he gets in front of the heavy door that leads to his father - to his retribution. This is all that stands between him and the culmination of five years of rotting away in a prison cell. 

All he has to do is open it. So that’s what he does. He pushes the door open, the hinge squeaking from disuse. His father - Duke Aegir - turns around to face him. After all this time, he remains the same pathetic old man. 

“Ah,” Father says, “I will be down to join everyone in a minute. I got some news that I must attend to.”

Ferdinand locks the door, the click silent. Ferdinand doubts Father would have heard even if it wasn’t. He’s frazzled, looking even more nervous than usual. “It’s regarding your son, Ferdinand, I imagine.” His father’s shoulders tense, eyes darting in every direction. “He escaped the Château d’If. You fear that he’s coming for you.”

His father takes a step back. 

Ferdinand takes two steps forward.

“H-He died there, years ago!” Father says, “How could a-a dead man escape?”

Ferdinand smiles a smile full of teeth and says, “But I didn’t die, did I?”

He watches it click in that sick, power-addled mind, the exact moment he realizes who’s in his office. Ferdinand is not a cruel man. He doesn’t enjoy watching others suffer. He’s willing to make an exception, glad to do it, even. His father looks horrified, stumbling back as his eyes widen. “F-Ferdinand?”

“You told everyone I died so there was no chance of them getting me out and me exposing you for the fraud you are.” Ferdinand draws his sword, “I’m here to finally end the problem that’s been plaguing these lands.”

“My son-” He doesn’t give him a chance to spout more poison, darting forward and stabbing him. It’s over, Father’s words turning into a gurgle as he looks up at Ferdinand. His hands reach up, shaking, and Ferdinand can’t hide his disgust for this man, sneering and jerking his sword out. Father slumps over, still looking up at Ferdinand. 

With one more breath, he’s dead. 

And...

And Ferdinand doesn’t feel any better. His father’s dead eyes stare up at him, fresh blood still leaking from where Ferdinand struck him. 

It brings him no joy. 

There’s no relief in this, instead cold fury still lies beneath his skin, an old and festering wound. His father’s corpse lies there, the stillness of him makes Ferdinand want to run, an awful feeling he needs to be rid of. “Get up,” he points the sword down. “Get up so I can do it again.”

His father doesn’t get up. A corpse won’t move, no matter how much he may rage.

“Get up!” He screams, guttural and inhuman. “ _Get up_!”

And then, for the first time in years, he feels the sting of tears in his eyes. He collapses to his knees and sits there, crying for something he doesn’t know. 

The door slams open, the wall rattling under the force. He tastes the air change with the taint of dark magic; Hubert, he knew he would come to investigate, eventually. No doubt he knew what the outcome would be, assassination was Hubert’s job. “Ferdinand, are you- “ A sharp intake of breath.

“I’m the man who killed your Prime Minister.” Ferdinand says. He can’t remember how many times he’d dreamt of saying that, the validation he was so sure he’d feel - the _freedom_ \- the phrase would give him. It falls flat now, reality sagging in the might of years of obsession. He’s as empty as before, the blood he spilt doing nothing to fill the hole. “You ought to kill me.”

Ferdinand wants Hubert to do it. 

All things considered, it’s the best way for him to die. The best way for this farce to end. 

This is no way to live.

If vengeance, if _justice_ , won’t be his salvation, then what else is there but the executioner’s axe?

His hand trembles with his sword. Ferdinand drops it, unable to wield it with how his hand shakes. Even without it, his traitorous hand continues to shake. _After all this, do I still love you?_

He doesn’t know if he’s talking about Hubert or his father. 

“He deserved it,” Hubert says coldly, then warmer, “Ferdinand.” He walks around and blocks Ferdinand’s view of the body. Hubert’s face comes into focus as he crouches down in front of him, face. The harsh angles that make up Hubert are still there, but now the edges are smoothed, in a way that Ferdinand can tell Hubert isn’t used to. “Ferdie.”

The name loosens something, wrenches a sob out of him, clawing it from somewhere deep within him. It hurts. “Hubert _._ ”

Hubert pulls him into his arms, hands stroking up and down his back, “My darling, I’m sorry.”

“It was supposed to fix me,” He gasps, “I still feel… feel _…”_

“Shh…” Hubert murmurs to him, “I know, I know.”

“Kill me,” He pleads. It would be a kindness. Surely Hubert won’t deprive him of this. “Hubert, please. I cannot go on like this.”

“No,” Hubert refuses immediately, voice harsh, “I finally have you back, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand shifts his head, hooking his chin over Hubert’s shoulder. He sees the glint of his sword out of the corner of his eye, laying innocently next to him and Hubert. 

He moves quickly, jerking out of Hubert’s grasp and grabbing the weapon. His fingers shake around the hilt and he struggles with his grip. 

“Ferdinand.” Hubert says, “Put down the sword.”

“You won’t do it.” He says, “If you won’t put an end to this, then I will.” His traitorous hand continues to tremble, prompting more tears from him. This makes him angrier, which makes him cry harder. “I’ll do it.”

He clutches it tighter, watches blood drip onto the stained carpet. There is no solace here. Not for him.

“Ferdinand, drop your weapon.” Hubert isn’t asking. Ferdinand knows the tone Hubert gets whenever he’s willing to entertain him, he doubts it’s changed, even after all these years. He’s known Hubert since they were children. He was stubborn. 

Ferdinand flexes his fingers around the hilt. Hubert moves and then his sword is out of his grip. He does not understand what Hubert did and cannot find it in himself to care. It makes a soft ‘thump’ as it hits the ground. 

Next thing he knows, there are gloved hands holding his face, thumbs moving across his cheekbones.

In a fit of desperation, he latches onto Hubert, hands fisting up his fabric. “Hubert?”

“Yes.” Says Hubert. Devoted, loyal Hubert. 

“This was supposed to fix me.” He’s not fixed. He’s just as broken as he was before. Maybe more. Ferdinand wasn’t crying before this happened, he didn’t feel lost. He had a purpose. It’s gone now.

Hubert shushes him and draws him closer, his hands moving to the back of Ferdinand’s head and pressing him into his chest. “We’ll figure it out.”

Ferdinand thinks it would have ended better if he hadn’t let go of his sword. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t feel so bad. “You should have let me-“

“No.” Hubert snarls. Ferdinand listens to his heartbeat, the erratic thumping almost soothing. “No, that is not the solution.”

Ferdinand disagrees. He stays silent, but he knows Hubert knows his thoughts all the same. 

—-

“Hubert, I assume you have a reason for bringing a bloodied stranger to me.” Edelgard says, eyes flicking over to the clock, “Especially at two in the morning.”

“I do.” Hubert says. He looks at Ferdinand, who remains silent. Hubert squeezes his hand. Edelgard looks to where their hands are connected. 

“What’s your name?” She asks. 

It’s a simple question, but one Ferdinand doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t know how. Telling Hubert was made easier by the confrontation. This is… 

It’s beyond his realm of social skills now. A simple greeting, and yet it escapes his grasp. It would appall his old self. 

He wishes Hubert had let him die. Or he wishes that he’d never escaped that prison, or that he’d drowned in the waters. Anything would be easier than this.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, and the illusion is over. Ferdinand cannot bring himself to look at Edelgard, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.

“Ferdinand?” She asks. She walks forward slowly, hands outstretched as she strides towards them. “Is that really…” When she stops in front of him, her fingers brush at his hair, framing it in a way that he’d felt years ago. Her face wavers as she does it, her hands moving to cup his face. It’s awkward with their height difference, but…

He thinks he might like it.

“Duke Aegir is dead,” Hubert says. Edelgard nods, not surprised in the slightest. Her eyes drift down to the blood splatter all over him before sweeping over Hubert’s almost perfectly cleaned clothes. 

“Hubert.” She says.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I trust you killed Duke Aegir because you found him a danger to this nation.” 

Ferdinand blinks and opens his mouth to object, that _he_ was the one who killed him, when Hubert slaps a hand over his mouth and Edelgard shoots him a look. 

“As we suspected, Duke Aegir was the one to blame for the crime Ferdinand was accused of all of those years ago. Because of him pinning it on an innocent man and the harm he has caused, I found it more than adequate to end his life.” Hubert’s hand presses more firmly, as if expecting Ferdinand to try to speak up again.

He was right, Ferdinand would try, but he’s unable to thanks to a hand pressed over his mouth. 

“As always, I trust your judgement.” She looks back to Ferdinand, the hard look disappearing and the face of his friend came back out. “I’m sorry, Ferdinand.” At her words, Hubert’s hand drops.

What Edelgard is apologizing for, he does not understand. It could be a manner of things. Maybe it’s this that prompts his next words, but he means them all the same:

“Don’t apologize to me.” He says. He has never liked pity, and he has never wanted an apology. If it was for his imprisonment, he never blamed them, if it was for not killing his father sooner, he doesn’t blame them. “I… I have a question.”

“Anything.” Edelgard says immediately.

“Why was… my father still Prime Minister?” He asks, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice, unable to look at them. “I had told Hubert about…”

“Your father, and my own, faked your death before Edelgard became Emperor. My father had gotten rid of all the evidence you had found, and with you believed to be dead, it was impossible for us to pin anything on Duke Aegir.”

All Ferdinand could manage was a shaky nod. “I… all right.”

“Are you going to stay with us?” Edelgard asks.

Ferdinand hesitates, until Hubert’s hand squeezes his and he looks over to see him smiling, just like he had all those years ago. “I… would not be opposed.”

“We must tell everyone that you’re back,” Edelgard says, brighter now, “We’ve been needing an excuse for a reunion.”

Ferdinand doesn’t think he was a good reason. Flames, most of their class hated him. “Edelgard-”

“Hush, Ferdinand.” Hubert says. “You can worry about that later. For now, I think you need some food and rest.”

“Oh! Of course, my apologies, Ferdinand! Hubert, I trust you’ll see to it that he’s taken care of?”

“Considering he’s my fiancé, yes.” And with that, Hubert is walking them out of Edelgard’s room and to what Ferdinand can only assume is Huberts.

“Fiancé?” Ferdinand repeated. “Still?”

At this, Hubert slowed his pace. “It shouldn’t surprise you that my feelings never changed for you.”

“But-”

“Of course, we won’t jump back into a relationship, you need time. But it’s important that you know that I feel the same as I did back then. I always will.”

Ferdinand loves him too, but he’d forgotten about what it was like to love for so long, so hellbent on revenge. He’d barely even considered what Hubert had gone through. “Goddess, Hubert, I-”

“If the next word out of your mouth is an apology, I won’t forgive you.” Ferdinand’s mouth snaps shut. “Ferdinand, right now all I want to see you do is recover. Please do not see me as pressuring you back into anything.”

“You could never pressure me into anything, Hubert.” Ferdinand just wants things to go back to how they were years ago, wants to be the man that he used to be. “I love you. I’d be…” He struggles to find the words that used to come so easy to him. “I’d be honored if, after everything is done, you’d still be able to hold me in such a regard.”

Hubert gives him one of those small little smiles, “Then I suppose all I need to do is wait for you?”

Remembering those same words he’d said, Ferdinand smiles back. “Indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written in so long PLEASE be gentle okay THANKS and I didnt have the patience to proofread i just wanted this out of my drafts OKAY THANK ILY
> 
> and happy ferdibert week!!


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